Flames of a Different Kind
by Winter-Grown-Lily
Summary: Arthur Kirkland meets potential love interest via one of the most cliche ways possible: after a kitchen fire and rescue. oneshot


"_Well, that went to hell."_ A voice whispered at the back of Arthur's mind as he shivered in a fire blanket. His eyes are unfocused and he could vaguely make out the shape of fire-fighters currently trying to douse the flames that flared high into the smoky night. He was still shaking off the last of the shocks, slowly coming to terms with the fact that maybe leaving the cardboard box with the frozen meal in the stove was a not such a good idea.

"Sir? We found this in the remains." A muffled voice said, probably one of the fire-fighters. He blinked and registered the charred cloth, all black save for the last corner which is guiltily embroidered with flowers.

Arthur's face finally let out something other than numbness: embarrassment. At the sheepish look, the fireman let out a bark of laughter. "You'd be surprised by the number of fires that happened because of one itty-bitty tea towel."

Arthur was too embarrassed to correct him. "Y-yes, I suppose that was a poor lapse of judgement of mine."

The fire-fighter patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. "No better teacher than experience, huh gramps?"

Arthur felt indignation swell in his chest, his face contorting in anger. "I'm not that old, you bloody twit!"

"From the contents of your house, I would've been fooled, with all those old books and knitting and sewing around your place. I almost thought that I was rescuing an old lady!"

"How the hell did you manage to notice such things when you had me slung over your shoulder?!"

The fireman froze, then laughed it off. "It's part of my job! Gotta keep a lookout for my surroundings!"

Arthur opened his mouth, but paused. As much as he hate to admit it, that was a logical reply. Though, why was that pause there?

His job done, the fireman stood up to stretch his back and sort out the kinks. "Good thing that only the kitchen was burnt. The rest of the house is fine, just really smoky, so I suggest keeping the windows open for as long as you can. Oh, you should also a real good cleaning company to come over and help you get the smoke stains outta those walls. My brother works at one actually, so he would know that they're a bitch to get rid of!" His bright laughter surprised Arthur, who had considerable calmed down after the outburst, even smiling at the fireperson's cursing.

"…thank you. For saving me, that is…"

A humbled look crossed the sooty face, and the fireman took off his helmet and gas mask. Now that it was free of the bright red helmet, Arthur stared at the blonde hair that was darkened with the residue of smoke, or rather, that one stubborn cowlick that refused to stay down, even after being the hat for so long. The blonde let a hand run through his hair, leaving behind a streak of lightened sunshine and letting that cowlick flick back into its original position. "It's only part of my job, sir. No need to thank me." Now free of the mask, Arthur also noticed how his eyes, a stark contrast to his sooty appearance, shone with life and good humour.

'_Like the middle of a summer solstice.'_ Arthur thought at the back of his mind. Out loud, he only let out a thoughtful hum.

After the small bout of silence that followed, the fireman jammed his helmet back onto his head. "Well, if that's all sir I'll let you take care of the rest. I think you're alright now." With a wink and a wave, the blonde fireman started walking back to the house, which the flames were now dying down to embers.

"W-wait!" Arthur called out the black and yellow striped back. "Is there any way I can repay you?"

The man half-twisted, his gas mask tucked under his arm. "Donations to the fire station's a good start!" Another hearty laugh. "Joking! Just learn how to use a fire extinguisher properly!"

Then he was gone, lost in the midst of ambulance, police and curious bystanders. Arthur kept staring anyway, until the ambulance officers came to check he was okay and to call his insurance company.

A few days later, on a Friday, Alfred was giving himself a pat on the back for his first comforting session, which was a roaring success (if he said so himself).

Even though he had been at his job for…four years? Wow, time sure flew by. Anyway, despite of all the years on the team, he never really had a chance to talk to the victims of the fire accidents, apart from "Are you okay?" and "Is there anyone else in the building?" and he couldn't forget "No, ma'am/sir, we can't save your jewels/book/valuable furniture imported from what'sthatplace so MOVE!"

Yawning, he punched in his card and shuffled over to the kitchen counter in the fire station to make himself some much needed coffee. When the first splash of energising liquid hit his tastebuds, he could feel himself perking back up with every sip, until he was bouncing on his heels to the receptionist at the front of the station.

"Mornin'!" He greeted cheerily to his co-worker. She raised a hand and grunted. He grinned, setting down another cup of joe, which she accepted gratefully.

He plonked next to her in a swivel of his chair, coming to a stop facing the front. "Anything new, Liz?"

Awake now that there was coffee in her system, she looked ready to face the day. "Funny you should say that, Al. Someone – an anonymous someone, I should add – made a nice donation during the week. Which is good, because I've been meaning to replace the hose on the fire truck. Better not let Gil know, otherwise he might blow it all on drinks again…"

Alfred only smiled into his coffee.

The opening of the glass door and echoes of shoes on the concrete floor make Elizaveta stop in the middle of her grumbling. Alfred looked up and was met with the very familiar pair green eyes that light up in recognition as well.

"Hello sir, how can I help you today?" Alfred asked, putting his cup away to put his attention to something way more important.

The man gave Al a smile. Was that a touch of smugness on his lips? "I need the fire report for my insurance. Should I give you the date and time?"

"Nah, I'm good sir. Let me look at the records for a moment. Name?" The name part was actually unnecessary, since Alfred didn't need it to search it up, but he had entirely different reasons for doing so.

"Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland. It's only fair you give me yours now."

A grin threatened to split his face, but whatever. "I'm Alfred. Okay, lemme just get 'em up…"

Eliza glanced between the two and noticed the not-so-subtle flirting between the two. This was definitely the man Alfred was gushing about earlier (not that he would admit to it). Very british, very uptight, but apparently, had the cutest accent in the world (Alfred's words, not hers). She loved implications. Especially when she pointed out how good the brit's mouth must be in order to use that accent (Alfred promptly spat out his drink and choked for a good ten minutes). And Arthur was interested too, if the way he leant on the counter with his fingers folded together and his chin resting on them.

Ah, she could already hear the wedding bells. Alfred better make her the bridesmaid.

_A/N: I'm an absolute master at ending stories as well as believable characterisation and interactions. #lies_

_Well, no better teacher than experience, right? *goes to write more usuk trash yay*_

_Nup, Hetalia still belongs to Papa Hima (upddaaaaate alreeaaady)_


End file.
